The Light Behind Your Eyes
by skylerisnotonfire
Summary: I grip onto the metal tightly with my hands, and just as I let go, a firm grip grasps my wrist- stopping me from falling to my sudden death. "You don't want to do this. Not today. Not now and not like this." I only sob against his neck, shaking as I beg him to put me back. To let me fall. To let me die. And I hope me like this, breaks his heart. Some Stisaac. Slow build Sterek.


**A/N: Zdrasti! Kak ste? (That's about as much Bulgarian as I know) Hey guys! Welcome to my new Teen Wolf story(: My updates will be random because of this stupid thing I deem worthy of calling an education, but I think it's worth it, and I hope you will to. ANY criticism is welcome, and please feel free to leave reviews and PM me. Now on with what you clicked on here for...  
**  
**Summary:**

I grip onto the metal tightly with my hands, and just as I let go, a firm grip grasps my wrist- stopping me from falling to my sudden death. "You don't want to do this. Not today. Not now and not like this." I only sob against his neck, shaking as I beg him to put me back. To let me fall. To let me die. And I hope me like this, breaks his heart.

The Light Behind Your Eyes

**Chapter 1-** Awake me from my _**nightmare**_

"Walking to the ledge  
I find myself looking down  
Frozen still with fear  
Now I'm plunging to the ground  
If only I knew how to fly  
Then I could convince myself this isn't my time to die  
Instead, I'm rocketing faster and faster  
I dive bomb to the floor  
And when my body crashes to the pavement  
I'm right back where I was before"  
- **Nightmare** by _Set It Off_

***Right after the last day of school of sophomore year***

_I never imagined, the thought wouldn't have even crossed my mind, that my first real heart break wouldn't come from Lydia Martin- the girl of my dreams since the third grade- that instead it would be my fucking 'friends' to tare me apart from the inside out in the end. In fact, Lydia is the only one who even seems to care at least five percent- and that's a pretty big fucking deal for her._

Though, I assume the only reason she's even making sympathy eye contact with me is because she feels slightly bad, because now that Jackson is all wolfed up and back to being macho jock man, they are all over each other. And I mean literally _all over each other. Even in the halls at school. Just sexing it up all the time._

Do you know what that feels _like? To see this award worthy, beautiful, perfect women- that I've been in love with for an immensely long time- groping and being groped by a complete fucktard- I can not even fathom the sight of them together, and I can not even begin to explain the big fucking shit storm swarming in my brain._

And it's not just that- I will put up with that. It stings, but I'll eventually move the fuck on and get over it. The 2billion songs written about heart aches will pull me through.

But what really gets me- what really makes me cringe _is the fact that I'm _screaming _on the inside begging for help- even just_ one _God damn person to say _something _to me that's not a put down- or actually throwing me down- and I was hoping that would be from Scott. My best friend. I want him to _notice _me. I want him to see how badly I'm hurting. I want him to comfort me, and let me know that the excoriating nightmares, and the horrid feeling inside me will disappear and I will be okay. That in the end he's my brother and that's all that matters. That we will be okay together._

He never notices. So either he's really a whole lot dumber then I thought possible- or he just doesn't fucking care.

And from today's earlier events, I've concluded- he just doesn't fucking care. Not one God damn bit- and I'm done.

I mean it. I've had enough of this bull fucking shit I call a life.

**(*) Earlier that day (*)**

_I've been up all night- again- but this time it's partly out of excitement. The nightmares came and went and I got three whole fucking hours of rest. Seriously- that's pretty freaking amazing. No joke._

Today is my fucking birthday- and no one is going to put me down, not today. I plan to move on from the horrible past year that was the year of sixteen- and I'm going to look forward to having a great year as a seventeen year old. I'm going to start over- and if I'm going to accomplish that properly, everyone deserves a clean slate. Lydia gets a clean slate, Scott gets a clean slate, Allison gets a clean slate- hell even Derek gets a fresh start in my book so toss him a fucking slate too.

Because guess what- as of 3:47 this morning- I am fucking seventeen.

I lazily roll out of bed- and I slowly walk down the stair case, a warm smile curling up from my lips- and I could care less about my disheveled appearance at the moment.

I know Dad and Scott will be in the kitchen- like they are every year on this date. British pancakes made- lemon and powered sugar on the delicious golden brown cake, will be set on the table as they are every year on this date. Strawberries and Mom's tea will be accompanied by the pancakes as they are every year on this date. Scott still in his pajamas as he is every year on this date.

I finally make it down the stairs- my sleep deprived form and scrambled thoughts have made me drag myself down to the kitchen slower than usual- my Batman graphic tee is slightly ridden up and my gray sweats lay loosely on my slim hips.

But when I finally turn the corner- seriously I was walking pretty damn slow... eh. I guess I still am. - all I see is Dad decked out in his uniform, scarfing down a bagel, and a glass of OJ ready to walk out the door. My eyes graze the lone British pancake and coffee mug- I also indicate the missing gigantic form that is my best friend. Where the hell is Scott?

"Dad?" I asked. He's suppose to be in his pjs enjoying breakfast with me- not in his uniform.

"I tried calling Scott, but I got no answer. There must be a very good reason as to why he's not here." He answers me by not really _answering me. He knows my question was more about the _uniform _and _not _Scott not being present- which okay I gotta admit, hurts._

"I know. Why are you all dressed up?" I asked even though I already know the ugly truth of an answer. But right now my mind is wrapped around Scott.

Is Scott okay? Did Derek do something? Is Allison hurt? Scott's fine right? Does this have to do with a Wendiego? A skin walker? Witches? Vampires? Do those things even really exist? Or is just your not so friendly neighborhood werewolves?

I'll call him right away.

Dad just sighs and gives me the look. The look that says 'I know this is really important to you, but I'm sorry. Sometimes it is what it is.'__

"You have to go in early huh." I stated tentatively. It wasn't a guess or a question for a reason.

"Yeah." Dad replies, ashamed. He really shouldn't be. I know he wants to be with me and that's all that matters- he can't help his crazy job. And let's face it, I haven't been the best son as of late- but I'm still upset that he can't be here. We never spend time together anymore- then again I can't help but feel as if that's my fault.

"Oh." Is all I say in return.

"Dinner at the diner at seven. We will talk gifts then, okay?"

I walk past Dad to take a sip of some tea, Mom's recipe is not the best, but I still love it. I look up at Dad and tell him, "Yeah. Yeah okay. Thanks uh- love you and, be safe."

"I always am Stiles." Dad winks at me as he walks out the door.

As soon as I hear Dad's engine leave the drive way, I'm sprinting up the stairs and putting on some fresh cloths. Dark wash jeans a plain black shirt, and a pair of black converse. No time to do my hair, find a plaid over shirt or my favorite red hoodie. So I settle for the black one laying on my chair instead.

I quickly snatch my keys and cell phone, halfway out the door I'm already dialing Scott. As I race to Scott's house, my phone keeps repeating that horrendous tone message: Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system _623 696 8749_ is not available please leave your message after the_- click._

Voice mail. Voice mail. Voice mail. Voice mail after fucking voice mail.

Dammit Scott answer your phone before I have an anxiety attack!

After flooring it down the fog filled road, I quickly notice Scott's not home just by glancing at his empty driveway. With out stopping, I continue to call Scott as I make my way over to the one other place he might be: Derek's.

It's places like Derek's creepy, spacious and ominous 'home' that takes a recurring relaxed place in my nightmares.  
Normally it would take me well over a half hour to get to Derek's new place- a place I didn't find out about until he already had it for a month- but at the speeding rate I'm going- I make it there in ten.

I pull up to the makeshift driveway and park my jeep, sprinting inside at full speed. I barely even noticed the sprinkling bits of rain that start to fall.

In a flash, I'm calling for Scott. "Scott! Scott! Scott! You here!?" I get deeper into the 'home' and I turn another corner that brings me utter disappointment.

Because Scott is _here, having fun. Playing video games and laughing with the rest of the gang. Even Jackson, Lydia, and Peter are here._

Derek's the first to notice my clumsy arrival, followed by Erica, Lydia, and so on.

Scott forgot. He's not hurt or in trouble. He wasn't there for me this morning like he always was the years before on my day, because he doesn't care. This isn't the first time I've caught him having fun without me.

"Scott, you're okay." It wasn't a question, but a realization on my part.

"Yeah." Scott says awkwardly.

"Well next time answer your fucking phone. Kay?" I say half relieved he's fine and not in trouble- but that only means he ditched me. On my birthday. Two days before Mom died. To say I'm hurt and pissed off is a colossal _understatement._

Jackson adds in a snarky comment, "He's not your boyfriend, he'll answer if he feels like it Stilinski."

"Seriously Jackson? Your more like a fucking retard walrus then you are a human being. Please don't procreate, ever, ever_, just for the sake of humanity. This earth already has enough dick heads in the world, you do not need to add to it." My tone of voice surprised me, it wasn't angry like I was feeling, it was calm and a little sarcastic. Yes I'm about as threatening as a pink flying unicorn with wings. Which I guess would just be a girly Pegasus. Seriously, was what he said to me suppose to be a 'zing'? What the F?_

Why am I so fucking stupid_!? How could I possibly think- even for a _second _that my friends care about me? The same friends that have been treating me like complete shit since day one. _I'm an idiot_._

"Scott, I actually thought you were seriously hurt." I said, hoping maybe that this is all some kind of prank. That this is actually a surprise party for me. But I'm never that lucky. I will never _be _that lucky_._

"So I didn't answer a few phone calls. What's your problem?" Scott asked on defense. A **few** _phone calls!? Try 27 dickhead!_

I can not believe he just said that. Like, what the fuck? "My- my _problem!?" I raised my eyebrows as high as they could go at the un-fucking-believable accusation._

Scott still doesn't get it, "Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?" He asked rather rudely.

Scott just doesn't get it. That actually stings. I guess several years of friendship means nothing. He's upgraded with his new popularity and now I'm nothing but dead weight to him. I guess it's been that way for a while. "Ugh. Nothing. It- doesn't matter." I said, as I look around the room filled with people I thought were my friends. To them I don't matter_._

"I-ugh. I'll just-ugh- head out." I said eyes watery. I will not cry in front of them. I will not give them the satisfaction.

"Go on then, why don't you just die emo scum!?" Jackson said, tone filled with laughter and hatred. Emo? What?

"Jackson. How the hell are you suppose to classify someone as an "emo" in 2013? What, owing skinny jeans, having hair and listening to Sleeping With Sirens all of a sudden makes me "emo"? And you know what? What if I was, why would it fucking _matter? You are a _God awful prick _you know that?" Seriously. What the fuck is his problem? Is he really that dense and judgmental of people? So his parents are dead. My moms dead. You don't see me going around being rude to everyone. And he has two people who care and love him, who he has family Sunday night dinners with, and goes on vacations with, who want nothing but happiness for him, and this is how he treats people? What if they were the worst parents on the history of the planet? If anything he should be grateful, he's _lucky_. He could have ended up jumping from group to group home. That is exactly why I have no sympathy for him. He treats me like trash and calls me names like emo, all because of parents he never met seventeen years ago. Then again, maybe I just don't understand._

How about I give him a taste of his own medicine? He only replies to me with laughter, "Calm your tits Stiles. It was a joke_. Sides you can't take _me _on. You don't want to get _hurt _Stiles. You don't want to _die_."_

I only darken my gaze and give him a devilish smirk, keeping my tone light I say, "We'll see about that in due time then, won't we Jackson?"

"The fuck is that suppose to mean punk? You threatening me boy_?" No, Jackson, I was only calling you a _liar_. I will prove you wrong- and then you will feel like an asshole. For once in his damn life- he will be forced to realize that he is _wrong_. Because I do want to hurt myself. I _already _hurt myself. The scars on the insides of my thighs and chest prove that._

I only laugh at him, his tone, the way he actually thinks I won't rip my own heart out the second I get the chance. I laugh at him because he has it all wrong_. I turn and walk out, still laughing at him. I probably sound like a manic, but I don't care, they all better watch it tonight. Because I'm tired of being disrespected and treated like trash, like their _slave_._

I pull out my phone and ring Danny as I leave the premises, Jackson's angry, "Don't you dare walk away from me Stiles!" Lingering in the back of my mind.

After the third ring, he picks up, "Stiles? Hey what's up?"

Jackson knocks down the front door I just came out of, Scott quickly following right behind him, along with everyone else.

I lock eyes with Derek as I say, "Where can I find you?"

Danny answers quickly, sensing the distress in my voice, "I'll meet you." And he hangs up.

"Stiles who was that?" Derek asks me.

I only shake my head at his faked concern as I hop in my jeep, cranking up the alternative rock as I drive away from these people who couldn't give a damn.

It's time I teach them _a lesson. Because I am fucking done with this bull shit. I'm done with _living_. And Danny is the only one who will even bother to make me think otherwise. He's my only friend. _And he isn't even really my friend at all.

**(*)**

_Laying on my bed (speaking of which, I don't really remember driving home- that can't be good), I begin to let the tears fall, as the questions roll out. Why doesn't anyone care about me? Why does Jackson have to be such an asshole? Why doesn't anyone stand up for me? How come Derek doesn't care? Why did Scott stop caring? _When _did Scott stop caring? Is it because of me? Am I really _that _hideous? They hate me because I'm ugly, I'm annoying and have no control. I have horrible habits and no filter. I'm... _Imperfect _and they _hate _me for it._

I'm fat and ugly and obnoxious and they hate me because of it.

This is the last thing I needed! I don't need these- these dick heads _to make me feel even more bad about myself then I already do! I- I get these overwhelming crushing nightmares that fallow me into the day- I can't sleep- I don't want to eat anything in fear it will turn out to be something it's not- if that makes any sense at all. I can't stop thinking about mom- and I just can't stop thinking! I'm driving myself insane!_

I can only be me, I can't change the faulty person that I am. I'm the real Daniel 'Stiles' Stilinski. And I don't know why everybody hates me so much, or maybe I do. Because now I hate me too. I really don't see the reason of trying, or for talking, or for breathing. I'm just done. I don't want to be here.

There is no point anymore! Everyone hates me, I live in constant fear and sadness- and I can't go on by myself.

Maybe I should just do everyone a favor and just end it. Everyone will me much happier without me.

Danny won't have to deal with me anymore. Scott won't have to get rid of me anymore. Derek won't have to threaten me anymore. Jackson won't have to scream at me anymore. Lydia won't have to feel guilty anymore. Dad won't have to continue raising a worthless piece of trash son. Everyone would be better off. And I could finally see mom again.

I quickly shoot Danny a 'never mind im fine thx thou' _text message, and I leave the house again._

Only this time I don't drive- I walk straight into the woods- taking an old path Scott and I use to travel by when we were kids. The burning tears still dripping down my face at a ferrous velocity as I try to keep my muffled sobs quite to no avail. At the end of the path there's a bridge. And a cliff. And a high water tide.

I completely forgot that it is stormy outside. I've been so focused on my thoughts and what I'm about to do that I didn't even notice that I'm drenched to the bone. For the longest while I just stare, looking down at the water below me from behind the bridge's bars- when my phone rings.

How is this damn thing still working? Oh right it's anything proof.

I answer it without even looking at the ID. "Where are you?" Scott asks me, he's frantic on the other end.

"Why do you even care?" I wince at how fragile and broken I sound.

"Are you outside? Stiles! You could get sick! This is one of the worst storms Northern California has ever seen!"

"Scott. That's the whole point. Don't try to find me. Not that you or anyone else would care enough to come after me anyway." I said, as stick one leg over the bars.

"Stiles! What the hell _are you talking about!? Your Dad and I have been going _insane _looking for _you_! You just _disappeared_! Please stop this and _come back_!"_

"You and your lies can go to hell _Scott. I was just with you two hours ago and you made it _perfectly clear _that I am _nothing _to you!" I hang up the phone, and toss it in the river below me as I bring another leg over the bars._

I grip onto the metal tightly with my hands, and just as I let go, a firm grip grasps my wrist- stopping me from falling to my sudden death.

"You don't want to do this. Not today. Not now and not like this."

I know that voice. It's Derek. I look up from underneath my bangs and black hoodie, to see just the person I thought I would- just as I predicated Derek is standing there, face full of pity.

"The hell _I don't! Let _me _go!"_

"No_!" In a flash I'm back on the bridge and over Derek's shoulder as he carries me out of the woods like a lost child. I only sob against his neck, shaking as I beg him to put me back. To let me fall. To let me _die_. And I hope me like this, breaks his heart._

He never answers me, and he never turns back.

After a while, he finally sets me down, and grips my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"Stiles, what you were about to do- what you were going to do would have been the stupidest _thing you would have ever done. Listen to me- what you said to Lydia about death- how it doesn't just happen to you, it happens all around you- well it's no _different _for_ you Stiles_." Since when did everyone start caring about me? This morning they were all unapproachable assholes._

"Whatever it's not like any of you cared this morning when I dropped by."

Derek looks utterly confused, so innocently conflicted that I almost believe him, "Stiles. You've been missing since last Tuesday. No one _has seen you since then. What are you talking about?"_

"You mean to tell me you don't remember Jackson telling me to 'die emo scum' this morning?"

"Stiles. Listen very carefully okay? Jackson moved to London over the summer."

"What are you talking about? It is the summer. Jackson moved today?"

"Stiles. It's the middle of December."

"No_. Today is August 26, 2013, my birthday."_

"Stiles, it's December 19_."_

"What the hell are you talking about! No it's not!"

"Stiles, lets get you home and you tell me the last thing you remember okay?"

And then it changed. Everything fucking changed. I was no longer standing beside Derek, I was no longer in the pouring rain, the sky was no longer a dull gray.

In an instant my whole world changed, the once glum sky turned into an impossible shinning day, so bright I felt as if my eyes were going to melt right out of my skull, the once freezing knife like piercing ice rain has disappeared and been replaced with an uncomfortable scorching white hot branding iron heat, and the once lone Sourwolf beside me has been replaced with nothing but barren land- no tress, no bushes, no animals, no water.

Nothing. I am utterly and undeniably alone. The heat is so intense, I sink to floor, landing on my knees with a thud- trying as best as I could to shield the bright sun rays with my arms that I've extend over my face, in attempt to cover my eyes.

Pitter. Patter. Plop. Pitter. Patter. Plop. Pitter. Patter. Plop.

What the hell is that noise? It's not raining out! And then I look down at the desert ground, I expected to see my sweat dripping off me and into the sand- but that's not what I find at all. The liquid hitting the ground casing a rain like symphony isn't sweat at all, because sweat isn't red- it's my blood.

I don't know how I know it's my blood, I don't know why or even when I started bleeding so rapidly, but I just know that the ugly pool of blood on the earth beneath my trembling form- is mine.__

And then I feel the pain- the agony of cries that rumble up my throat and escape my lips don't sound like my own voice, the pain I feel- I can't explain it, I know it's God awful and I know that's why I'm screaming, why I'm bleeding _but I just can't explain it because I've become numb to it- like I'm in shock._

And then I hear it- the quite voice that's been secretly following me this whole time, He whispers to me, "Stiles. You're going to rot in Hell. And I'll be there, making sure every last minute is as excruciating and painful as the last. This pain that you're feeling right now-this is only one tenth _of the pain you'll embrace when I steal your soul. I'm going to burn every last fucking millimeter of that mole induced skin of yours, _Stiles_."_

As the scene fades out before me, He whispers to me one last time, "On December 19th _Stiles, your pansy ass is mine."_

I grip into the bloody sand, my fingers feeling the ooze as my hand sinks further into the ground. With every blink I take more blood bursts onto the floor. I can only imagine what I look like.

Like my body's imploding.

I can barely hear the strained muffled voices from afar.

"Stiles." Mom?

"Stiles wake up sweetheart."

"You need to wake up."

"Stiles."

"Just wake up."

And in that exact moment, it was as if my whole world decapitated around me; leaving nothing but a morbid pitch dark blackness for me to stand on.  
  
I shoot out of bed, and onto my hard wood floor, covered in sweet that seems so sticky it doesn't leave my skin and drip like it should, but I'm so unaware, I don't even notice that it has already stained my shirt and my sheets. I feel so constricted like someone's wrapped a thick, burning metal chain around my body and throat. _And I just can't breathe._

_And I just can't breathe. _

I _can't_ **breathe.**

Why can't I breathe? Why can't I feel my feet? Why can't I feel my fingertips? Why is my head hurting so much? Why does it feel like someone's taken their bare hands and just churned my insides all around, and then taken a knife and jabbed me about a thousand times in my stomach? Why do I feel this way? What's happening to me? What's wrong with me?

I'm trembling so fiercely that I collapse onto the floor, slamming my back against my bed frame. And I fully notice from my hyperventilating, racing thoughts, the horrible terrors, and just the overwhelming feeling like I'm going to die, that for the first time in years, I'm having a panic attack.

"Dad." I try to scream out but it's too late, it's too consuming and _I just can't breathe_, and my voice just comes out too strained that the words pass on deaf ears. _And I just can't breathe_. Why can't I breathe?

I'm still shaking erratically, but I manage to barely grab my phone that's already on the floor (must have knocked off my dresser when I fell, I thank God for not having a lock on my cell), and I speed dial my father.

I don't bring my phone up to my ear because I can't, I can't when I'm trembling this horribly. I was lucky enough to even find my phone with my shaky vision let alone ring my Dad.

I have no idea if he picks up or not.

_I just can't breathe. _

Why is this happening now? What's wrong with me? Why is it so cluttered in here? Why is it so hot? Why won't someone help me? Why am I alone? What if someone sees me like this and they think less of me? What if they tell me to _get over it_ that it's _all in my head_ like that kid in the third grade did? Why can't I stop crying? Why am I this weak? I am weak. Every tear that falls from my eyes prove just how weak I am. Don't cry. I can't help it. I am pathetic. This is why mom left you, you're a complete waste of space. A failure.

Focus. Focus. _Focus on anything else_. Not on people that I love dying. Not on flames or the gut wrenching heat in here. Just focus on breathing.

_I can't breathe. _

Glancing at the forgotten phone I notice with foggy vision that I never even hit my speed dial for my father.

I can't even do _that_ right. Why can't I do anything right? Why can't I pull it together? I am a loser. I'm worthless. I am nothing! Nobody's here because nobody cares about you! They all forget about you! They will always forget, _everyone will always forget_. Just leave. No one cares. Not even yourself.

**And I just can't breathe.**


End file.
